The Illustrious Client
by daisherz365
Summary: Sherlock hates dry spells. However, during this one there is finally a break in his suffering when a client arrives in the middle of the night. The client: Molly Hooper. The same Molly who he hasn't spoken to in months.
1. Chapter 1

**[made edits to name confusion on my part. The other two chapters are being reuploaded as well. Sorry! I am working on Pt. 4 currently 11.7.2016.**

 **THE ILLUSTRIOUS CLIENT**

 _Hello lovelies. I'm bringing you another mini-fic. As it happens I really loves those and I have a lot of ideas for them. This one has been sitting in my head for a while now and I'm so happy to finally bring it to you. It's probably my first in depth case fic without veering too much. It also is angst heavy – my M.O. – so I hope you like feels._

 _For a point of reference this is set after the Moriarty message – and after they deal with that – of course I have no idea what that'll entail yet until s4 airs but this is how it works for this fic. It'll make a lot more sense once you get into it so without any more rambling on my part ENJOY!_

 _much love,_

 _day_

 _P.S. I would like to thank the ever wonderful_ **mizjoely** _for looking this over for me and answering my questions when I was thinking properly clearly. She's amazing._

1/6

It was a quiet night in Two Hundred and Twenty-One B Baker Street. The flat which had previously been a rambunctious center for gunshots, drug busts and the occasional weeping woman (clients or acquaintances) had been completely subdued over the past few days. Sherlock Holmes should have been raving about how little he had on his plate with no current case available to him. However, his luck was soon to change not that he had realized it yet.

His home had been revamped for the weekly visits with his godchild. A girl with muddy blonde hair and bright green eyes that rivaled the forests he had previously been running through about a year and half ago. Her name was Eliza, not his first choice for a name but neither John nor Mary would budge on it. They thought it made her seem different. That hadn't been wrong. The little girl enjoyed whenever she got a chance to spend with the detective. She rarely cried in his presence, and if she did he just started humming a composition. She would stop shortly after and gaze up at him with eyes of wonder. Something that Sherlock didn't think he had ever notice happen with any of the other babies that he had encountered. Though he hadn't been trying to frequent family parks or the maternity ward of the hospital until Eliza had come into this world.

He enjoyed spending time with her, especially at her age. She needed constant care which gave him a slight distraction from the lack of work. John had taken videos of Sherlock's antics around his daughter. Sherlock would exaggerate his tales of recounting an adventure if he noticed the camera pointed at him. Smiling at the outburst of John berating him about it. It wasn't anything compared to his embellishments of what Sherlock was like.

Tonight, both John and Eliza were over again. Mary had gone out with Sally Donovan for a little girl's night out leaving John on his own. Instead of staying home he had ventured over to Baker Street to bug Sherlock.

They were currently in John's old room which had been converted in part to a minimal nursery. There was even a changing station. John's bed was still in there pushed against the wall. Sherlock was currently moving about the room dancing with Eliza as he hummed a tune. John chuckled when Sherlock made an attempt to dip Eliza only for her to make a fuss. "Alright. I'm sorry milady." He came to a full stop before turning to John. "She'll appreciate it more when she's older."

"I'm sure. Though she won't remember it much."

"That's what you're here for." He gestured to the camera which was blinking red as it was still on.

John sighed. "I'm not only here to document your revelations."

Sherlock just stared at him. That is usually what he did. "We are friends, too I suppose." He trailed off. John looked annoyed. "I'm joking." He smiled at the blond who didn't seem to find it funny at all.

"And you say Molly Hooper can't tell jokes…" John shook his head.

At the mention of the auburn haired pathologist Sherlock turned away. John grew weary as he watched Sherlock step over to the crib and fiddle with the mobile that was above it. Eliza cooed at the little musical sounds that came when he flicked it. "Have you gone to the hospital since the last time you were there? It was four months ago."

He was met with silence. That was a no then.

They had worked cases since then; where was he getting the information if not from Molly? He supposed Mycroft could have helped with that but he always went to Bart's. It was his home away from Baker Street. When he told Mary about this she was sure to want to do something. She liked Molly. She had spunk when it came to Sherlock. The slap in the lab was fresh in his mind.

Mrs. Hudson called from down the stairs. "Boys! You have a client."

This quickly changed his demeanor as he was rushing out of the room with Eliza. "At this hour?" he called back, switching the Watson child to his opposite side. "Who would be awake besides me and the occasional drunk?"

It was nearing two o'clock in the morning.

"Just come see, Sherlock. I'm going back to bed." He heard the door shut before he made it to the front of his flat. He let out a sigh before turning around and walking towards the sitting room where the clients usually waited for him. John was on his tail when he suddenly stopped rather abruptly.

 _Molly._ She was here. Sitting. On the sofa, and twisting her fingers in a nervous fidget as if this was her first time coming here. It was the first time she had been here in a long time and he was completely aware of that. It was why he stopped, among other reasons that he didn't want to get into right at this moment.

Sherlock shifted the baby in his arms before hearing his best friend come up behind him. "Would you mind?" Taking his eyes off the woman for a moment to pass his goddaughter back to her father.

John chuckled, ignoring Sherlock's usual weirdness as he took over holding his child. "I am her father, after all." He decided to leave the two alone and headed back downstairs to see Mrs. Hudson. He'd come back tomorrow after the two of them had spoken to see what had happened. He needed to get back before Mary wandered in wondering where her husband and daughter had gone.

Molly's head was bowed so she didn't see the smile that John shot her way. He stared at Sherlock's head before heading out.

Sherlock called out her name, aloud this time as he began his short walk over to the sofa where Molly - the client - was sitting. Normally the clients sat in a chair but Molly wasn't normal in any regard.

"Molly…what's the matter?" When she lifted her head he took immediate notice of the tear tracks on her face. She had managed a short smile as she started to get up to talk to him. He waved it away. "No. Sit. You know how this works."

His eyes zoned in on her hands and state of dress. She had been somewhere that required her to dress up, at least in the most casual dress she owned. A lilac sundress which looked lovely on her, he admitted. It wouldn't be Molly if she didn't have to clash to the best dressed fashionista out there. She had chosen a blue jumper with white kittens all over it. Not his favorite. No matter; he was drawn to focusing on the red stains of her hands, and the splash on her clothes.

"Right. I figured you'd be the best person to ask…" She seemed hesitant, something that Sherlock himself could understand. They hadn't exactly been talking lately. He couldn't turn her away though. She was the one asking for his help. A new twist in their ever changing dynamic.

He couldn't help finding it ironic and not nearly as refreshing as it should have been. To be completely honest it's the first time he's helped her with something that wasn't directly involving dead psychopaths. A flash of the last time she was here for guidance hit him strong. He had to shelf it, as he bent down and inspected her hands. "Tell me." He drew in a deep breath, as he realized he'd probably be more resourceful if he tried to remove some of the blood while they were talking.

He rose up as she opened her mouth to begin her tale, her eyes trained on him unsure of if she should wait. As he ducked into the kitchen he called to her to go on. "I'll be just a moment. Keep talking."

Molly wrung her hands as she waited a beat before raising her voice, her throat felt strained as she began telling him her reason for being in this state and what she felt he could do for her.

 _She had gotten an email from one of her oldest friends from Cardiff. She hadn't been home in a long time. Nor had she spoken to many people from her time living there. A few comments on blog posts or Facebook statuses but other than that there wasn't anyone that she regularly kept up with that wasn't Meena and she saw her nearly every week for lunch. There was one friend who had sent Molly emails regularly however. She got to read them when she wasn't too busy and sent a quick reply if she found anything to say. Her name was Tilly Morrison and she was coming into town for a few days and wanted to have dinner._

 _Molly hadn't seen much of the outside of her morgue or lab or even her home these days with so much going on that she was happy to take the night to spend some time with an old friend. It would be nice to catch up, and it was._

 _Tilly had a daughter who was only six years old who she brought along. Tilly had an awful fear of flying or really driving places on her own. So it was up to her daughter to help her out. Her husband had passed away. Molly felt bad for not having reached out during that time but Tilly hadn't told her about any of the arrangements. There has been a few weeks when she hadn't heard from her but that was all. There was a brief mention of him being gone. Molly had sent flowers and a handwritten note to express her sorrow of knowing that Tilly was on her own now._

 _"You can talk to me about anything. I promise I've held secrets before." It was true for a lot of Molly's life. Including her father's and one of her mother's. Not to mention the detective who had asked her help on more occasions than she could count (somewhere around four big cases, and a few off the record that she wasn't supposed to talk about)._

 _It was shortly after that Tilly had had a cry as her daughter (Millie) had looked on sadly at the topic of her father. She had only met him once when she had gone back home. Tilly had stayed in Cardiff up until this point. It was one of the reasons why Molly felt obligated if not already wanting to meet up with her while she was here. She knew what it was like to go to a new place and notice how different it was from what you already knew. It was a shock to anyone._

 _She imagined it was worse when you had to figure this all out with only yourself and your kid tagging along. Tilly soon composed herself so that she could grill Molly on what she had been up to. "I work in the morgue. It's not exactly lively."_

 _At that both Tilly and Millie giggled. "Oh Molls you still have that humor. I've missed that."_

 _Molly was glad someone appreciated it. She hadn't pulled one of those out in a long time. "Thank you." She smiled turning to Millie who had the most adorable freckles that were set in a triangle pattern on her right cheek. "Everyone used to think I was weird but your mum thought I was sweet for thinking of such things like the dead."_

 _"You used to wear your hair in these two plaits. It helped your case." Tilly mumbled as she patted Molly's hand. "So…are you seeing anyone Molly?"_

 _Molly shook her head as she tucked her hair behind her ear. She had been thinking of cutting it a bit. "Not for a while. I was engaged last year for a time. Just didn't work out."_

 _Tilly had always been able to catch onto things. Then again most people already knew about her situation with Sherlock Holmes. She didn't think she had mentioned many times, perhaps once but that was about it._

 _Her friend didn't ask her about Sherlock though. Instead she just smiled at her. "You'll find someone. You of all people deserve to be happy." Molly swallowed down the sadness that washed over her. It didn't last too long. Soon enough they were ordering desserts and drinking the last of the wine – Millie had some juice – their time together for the night was coming to a close._

 _"Maybe I can show you a bit of the sights they don't tell you about. A friend showed me some newer ones." Molly commented as they were putting on their coats to leave. Tilly made sure that Millie's hat wasn't crooked on her head before taking her hand so that they could step out._

 _The cool air hit them as the door was pushed open by the small hands of Millie. Molly was looking around for something that she thought she had just had in her hand. "What's up, Molly?" Tilly asked as they were stepping over the threshold of the exit._

 _Molly laughed at herself. "I think I left my purse at the table. I'll meet you outside." Tilly smiled at Molly. She hadn't changed that much. She sometimes spaced out about the smallest of things. "You sure, we can wait inside."_

 _"Yeah." Molly gestured for her to go. "It'll only take me a few seconds. I know its cold out there." Tilly nodded as she gripped her daughter's hand and rushed to head outside. They would be back inside their warm hotel room soon enough._

Sherlock had never seen Molly visibly this distraught in a long time. Her hands were trembling in his as he wiped the blood away. The light pink of the small basin he had brought in to help get rid of some of the evidence. He wondered if she had noticed anyone looking at her out in the streets on her way here. It didn't appear she called for a cab. Perhaps she had been close. Or she had just taken a longer route to get here. He'd have to inquire about it.

Molly stopped talking for a second, using the hand that he hadn't touched to wipe her face on the sleeve of her jumper. When she resumed she sounded worn out, "I just found them there. Just a little off to the side. No one did anything but stared - of the few that were still out - and I hoped they weren't…but they were. They were dead." She paused, before looking right at him. She had been avoiding his eyes ever since she started telling him what had happened. "There was so much blood. I could see the pain on their faces. There was so much blood," she repeated before looking down at her hands and the basin of water that was no longer clear.

Sherlock had to distract her. She was very close to coming completely undone. She hadn't gotten there yet but he knew she was on the brink of it. He smoothed his thumb over the back of hand. "What killed them? What kind of wounds were they?"

He watched her close her eyes for a moment. It wasn't because she needed to gather herself, she was thinking back. Recreating the crime scene. She had helped him with that before on two short occasions. It helped to visualize. His fingers didn't steady wanting to be sure she didn't immerse herself in that moment. It wasn't going to help her or him, the man she came to in her hour of desperation. She was shaken by it. She responded shortly, "Two different ones. Gunshot and a blade. There wasn't enough light to tell but the people who did it were gone."

"You think it's more than one person." It wasn't a question, just an assessment to make sure he had heard her right.

"It's not an impossibility." She leaned her head back and looked at the ceiling. Sherlock took the time to switch to the other hand. He had cleaned most of it. There was still some caked under her nails. That would be her choice to clean it. He knew that she would, it was what she was used to.

He hummed as he resumed what he was doing. "Anyone else who knew she was going to be in the city? You mentioned a dead husband. What was he like?"

"On the few occasions - mostly in passing - that I met him he seemed alright. Normal bloke. Didn't have any warning signs appearing over his head." She let out a small laugh. "I didn't really go home much. Tilly talked about him tonight though. She was grateful for having him in her life for as long as she did. But, I don't think there was anyone else. She just wanted to come to London at least once with her daughter. That's all she wanted." Molly sniffled.

Sherlock stopped moving for a second as he looked up at Molly. She was back to avoiding his gaze again; a gesture that he understood more than he wanted to admit right now. Even still, he wanted her to understand him for one moment.

"Molly." He muttered quietly. "Molly, would you look at me for a moment."

She did so very slowly. There was so many emotions swimming through those muddy brown eyes of hers. She slowly sat straighter, waiting for him. She was always waiting for him.

His eyes were laser focused on her and this moment because he knew it would change the tone for everything that followed – in this investigation, and in the place he wanted to get to – it truly mattered. "I'm not going to let you down. I'm going to find out who killed Tilly and Millie. I'm going to find out who hurt you this way. It's my one promise to you that I won't fail at because I owe you that much. For all the bullshit I've put you through." His hands pressed into hers when she began to shake her head at him. "You deserve this one thing on top of many things. I promise you this, Molly."

"And if you fail?" Molly was one of the few who could ask him that he not immediately blow up at them. Failure was not an option here. He didn't want to see this image of her again. Utterly broken and hopeless.

He removed his hands, and picked up the bowl from off the floor. He rose to his full height. He was towering over her he realized so he bent down just a smidge, and put a hand on her head. He didn't muss it up, he just leveled his hand there. "I won't."


	2. Chapter 2

THE ILLUSTRIOUS CLIENT

2/6

Molly had known that she could trust Sherlock. This is what he did for a living. She hadn't even realized she was coming here until the sirens faded out from her ears. Then she had spent more than half of the last couple minutes walking up to the door in a panic. She had been covered in blood, and was absolutely hysterical. Soothing tones from Mrs. Hudson had coaxed her into heading up to the sitting room of Sherlock's flat before he ultimately peeked out to view his client. She was his client. An idea that must have shocked him for the half a minute it took before he approached her. Or, he had been thinking what she had.

She didn't know what she was doing here. She had known he was someone that could help her – truly help her - beyond that she hadn't even been sure how to go about talking about it.

Now he was standing there with an almost smile on his face as he took a step back. She watched as he drew in a breath before nodding not at her or anyone in particular. Just doing so, as if he had decided something himself. "Okay. You need to get some rest."

Molly implored him with a look. Did he want her to leave?

His next statement sounded stranger to her. "I can give you some clothes."

"Huh?" She moved to stand up. "Sher-." He was out of the room in an instant and heading to his room she presumed. She stayed by the couch not believing what he was doing or why. If she wasn't so shaky she would have hollered to him and asked but she waited for him.

He didn't keep her waiting too long. A stack of clothes were in his hands when he came back. He beckoned her towards the hallway that led to the back where his room was, directly through the kitchen. The bathroom was also there. She had frequented it only a handful of times when she was over for more than ten minutes.

She followed him at a leisure pace. He lightly pushed her inside. "Take the bed after your shower."

"Sherlock." She called to him before he could disappear again. He was even good at it in his own home. "What are you doing?" She asked. Confusion etched on his face. He needed a better explanation. "Why are you asking – no - telling me to stay?"

"You're a mess, Molly. Bloodied and shaken. You can't go home yet. You need rest now. Isn't this what people do for each other?" Yes, she wanted to say. People do. Friends – the word he hadn't used when talking about her, ever – do. She understood what he was trying to do. It didn't mean it didn't confuse her. There was something else that he wasn't sharing. He was right though it wasn't time for them to talk about other things. Tomorrow then.

She nodded silently before closing the door.

The door to Sherlock Holmes' bedroom was slightly ajar when she stepped out of the bathroom. The steam from the greatly appreciated shower sifted out as she stepped over the threshold and peeked around the corner. She couldn't hear anything coming from the front room. So she clutched her clothes which she had wadded up, she would have to throw them out, and moved the five feet over to the door. She hadn't ever been in here before. There had been several hours when she thought of what it would be like but she had never thought she'd ever have a reason to be in here. Not logically anyhow. Yet, she was right in front of the door. Her head peeking inside and spotting Sherlock messing with something on the desk that was tucked next to the wardrobe.

The room looked small. The bed was the largest object in the entire room. Molly had to hide a smile when she noticed the periodic table. He was a scientist at his essence wasn't he?

He must have heard her, because he turned almost immediately. "I won't be offended if you roll up the legs of the pants. You're smaller than I am." Molly looked down at her feet where the bottom of the pants were pooled there. She had rolled the waist two times already. She wouldn't trip too much. She smiled at him cautiously. She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. "What are you working on?"

He shook his head as he moved towards her in a slow gait that was very reminiscent of the not-date-day when he rose from the ashes. "Ah, it's not important right now." He reached out and then caught himself before pointing to the bed.

It was here that she noticed he had already pulled back the sheets for her. It was such a strange sight that she started laughing. Sherlock inclined his head. "Sorry. I'm tired." She gestured to the bed as she made a small movement to set down on the side not completely wanting to lay down on it just yet. "It's a lot to process."

Sherlock understood. There was something else plaguing her. He felt that he could grasp at that as well. He had never allowed her into his room. Not many had actually been let into his room without him slapping the door in their faces. He had left the door open for her – an invitation – and now he was inviting her to sleep. It had never really crossed his mind that she should go into the nursery. If anything that would send the opposite message of what he was trying to do.

He took a chance and sat next to her. Not too close, but enough that she would know that he was here if she wanted to say anything else before he went. "You've had a long night, Molly."

"Sorry I interrupted your time with Eliza." She said immediately. Sherlock's head jerked towards her. Molly's head was bent and she was picking at her nails. They were cut low enough that she could work cleanly without tearing the gloves that she used for work. There was a pale coat of varnish on them. Understated as ever, she was.

"You weren't. John was preparing to head home anyhow." He paused and drew in a breath. "You don't ever have to apologize for needing help. My help especially. We can talk about it more later. You're not bothering me though, Molly." He needed her to understand that.

He mimicked the same motion he had done before her shower, reaching out to pat her head with his hand just barely touching her wet hair. It looked shorter. He blinked realizing it had escaped his attention the first time around. A short cut that framed her face in the same auburn waves as usual. It ended a few meters under her chin. It suited her instead of unsettling him. He hated change but when it came to Molly change wasn't all bad. He almost welcomed it.

He stood up. He didn't say anything more just turned off the light. He had left the lamp on for her in case she needed it.

Once he shut the door behind him he drew in a deep breath. He headed towards his study that was a few doors down. It was time get to work.

-x-

Molly woke up slowly with a headache that she normally acquainted with having a bit too much to drink. She recalled drinking but she didn't think that was why her head hurt. She had cried buckets of tears.

Millie and Tilly…they were dead.

She ran her hands through her hair and let out a sigh. She opened her eyes for a brief moment before closing them again. She really didn't want to move. Her heart ached. Her head hurt. Not to mention the fact that she was slowly realizing where she was.

She peeked an eye open once again and looked around. The lamp which had been left on for her benefit had been turned off. The clutter of the desk had been fixed to a point. That led her to believe that Sherlock had come in at some point. To further prove that point she had no idea how late in the day it was. It was late when she had come in to sleep. Or to put it more bluntly - Sherlock had told her to take the bed as if that was a normal occurrence and she had just complied without arguing. She had been tired.

As her eyes took in the room with clearer eyes she noticed that he was standing directly left of his wardrobe with his eyes closed. She tilted her head in curiosity. He was either sleeping or in his mind palace. She looked closer at the image. He had his hands folded in front of his chest, and didn't looked distressed in the slightest. That didn't mean much. He sometimes went deeper into his mind and could pull that look off.

Molly carefully sat up and waited to see if he would budge. He didn't keep her waiting long. It took a solid few ticks of the clock before he unfolded his arms and stuck his hands in his trouser pants' pockets and looked at her. "You're awake. Good. I called Bart's. They thought I had you occupied somewhere but when I explained that they might have new visitors in the morgue that you were loosely connected with they put two and two together. Regardless, you have a few days for mending. Their wording." He pursed his lip as he stared at Molly.

Her hair was messy but she looked better than she was eleven hours ago. His gaze traveled to the clock that was on her left. He might have let her sleep a bit too much. They were going to be busy today, she would need her rest. He had gotten a few hours once he had unraveled a few things for the case. They'd talk about it over breakfast or according to the time a late brunch.

"Thank you." She told him slowly as her eyes shifted slightly to the black garment bag that was hanging on one of the knobs of the wardrobe. Her mouth twisted in nervousness of what could be in that bag. Sherlock was known for having an eclectic taste in much of his life. Certainly clothes were among that.

"Mrs. H brought up some food. We'll eat first then worry about that." He gestured to the bag. He had a small smile on his face.

She looked at it once more before nodding and climbing out of the bed. She passed Sherlock and headed towards the kitchen. She could hear him directly behind her. They didn't talk as Molly piled up her plate with the finger foods that Martha had brought in for her. Sherlock waited until she was done and they were sitting across from each other back in the sitting room. This time he sat in his chair, legs crossed while he sipped on his tea and ate half a sandwich.

Molly noticed he was eating right away. "You're working…" She commented.

"It's a bit awkward watching you eat. This is already uncomfortable for the both of us. Let's not make it worse." He mumbled.

Molly could admit he was correct about that. Even still she felt that things didn't feel as off as they were. Perhaps because she hadn't fully woken up and thought too much on it. "You can ask your questions while I'm distracted." She told him shortly afterwards. She knew he had several that he needed to ask her in order for them to get a move on. However, she didn't expect him to lead with "Is she really called Tilly?"

It caused Molly to start laughing. Her mother had the same reaction when she introduced her one day when Molly had invited Tilly over to study for an extensive exam. "Sorry." She waved it off before taking a sip of her tea and sobering up so she could answer him. "No. It's just what I call her. Same with her daughter. It's just an affectionate thing that sometimes make it easier for people who aren't happy with their names. She's actually Matilda Mae Morrison. Her family's name is Haggard."

"And her daughter?"

"Camilla Rose Morrison. She liked the idea of flower names so she used it for her middle name." Sherlock could appreciate that. He hummed.

"You said there wasn't anyone who knew her here except from you. Husband is deceased, what about her parents?"

"Never met her dad – deadbeat supposedly – mum died during uni so she doesn't have anyone really. She visited her uncle sometimes but mostly because she was being nice. She didn't exactly like him. I went with her a few times."

"What was he like?" Molly could tell he wasn't going to scratch off an uncle just because she said he wasn't important. Everyone was important when it came to murder and solving this one was no different. Molly quickly explained that Uncle Richard was a hoarder that only left his house for sales at antique shops and the odd auction. He smelled bad like he didn't shower as much as he should. He just didn't seem capable of doing something like that just because Tilly stopped coming around once she was married. "You're still going to look into him?" She asked him once she was done. She had just turned over her teacup. She was finished with everything.

"Don't have to. I already have. I needed an outside perspective." Molly would say he was improving on that spectrum. He didn't ask her to make himself feel good. He just wanted her opinion. He valued it, she supposed.

"Was that helpful?" She asked him as she stared at him directly waiting for a sign that maybe she needed to dig a little deeper.

"Quite." He got to his feet and walked behind the sofa to retrieve something; a file and he passed it to her. Inside it were photographs of an old man sitting outside a shabby looking home. The man and place were familiar to Molly. "When was this taken?"

"A few days ago. I'd say he hasn't made a move to attempt to leave that stoop." Sherlock smiled shortly.

Behind a few details about Richard there was something laminated. A dossier on Tilly's husband. It was short and to the point. He had no enemies to speak of, and the only selling point was that he fathered Millie and had a wife. He was a rather ordinary person in Sherlock's mind at the least. Molly could tell by the almost bored expression he had on his face when she peered over the file.

She kept going and then closed almost immediately. Photos of the crime scene. She pressed a hand to her head as the memories rushed her. She suddenly realized that this must be what it felt like when someone had to view a body at her morgue of someone they cared about. Or a victim had to go back to the scene.

She tasted the wine on her lips except there was a problem. It tasted like copper and she could feel the food churning in her stomach. She moved as quickly as she could through the kitchen to the bathroom. She felt long fingers combing her hair out of her face rather than seeing them as she heaved. "I should have looked at those first." She told him as she pressed her face into the toilet a second time to get the rest out.

"What was it from? You're used to blood and bodies." He passed her a towel so she could clean up her mouth. She took it as she leaned against the wall, wiped her mouth before looking up at him.

"I remembered the wine but for some reason it tasted like blood. I don't know…" She said in explanation as she took a deep breath.

"I'll see if Lestrade has the bottle. I need to check something."

"You're thinking its poison but we know they were slayed, Sherlock." She called to him as he made to retreat to grab his mobile.

He was nearly out of the room when stopped, both hands catching on the two sides of the arch that led out the bathroom. "We haven't got the toxics back. You might be remembering something that you didn't realize because of the shock."

"Or it could be a misdirection." She got to her feet and turned the faucet on. "What you won't say is going to lead us in the wrong direction Sherlock. I was probably the target."

Molly heard him sigh as she took the mouth wash out of the medicine cabinet and swished the gross stench from her mouth. He was turned towards her when she got done.

"I was going to get to it in the cab ride over…" He trailed over. It was clear he had a lot of things that they hadn't yet talked about when it came to this case.

"What did you find out?" It was obvious to her if they were heading anywhere it was because he had another lead.

"Get dressed and we'll sort it all out, yeah?" Molly stared at Sherlock carefully. He was starting to draw back a little. She wasn't sure if it was her coming out and saying what he didn't want to admit or what it was. He looked distressed but at the same time he has this calm to him that she was familiar with. "Okay." She whispered as she passed by him to grab the garment bag that was still hanging in his room.

Sherlock waited in the hall for her. She came back mentioned she was gonna take quick shower. Sherlock decided to head back to the sitting room and update Lestrade. Even with Molly's play through of the previous night's events he still needed to be sure that everything was okay. He couldn't freely admit but it terrified him at the thought that someone had first tried to poison Molly and her friends then took one more stab at it by killing the same people she had been there with to send a message to her – to him – to anyone who would be able to stop them in their tracks.

This was his city and he would send a message of his own soon enough. There were certain individuals you didn't cross and Sherlock Holmes was one of them.

After taking her shower and drying her hair the best she could with the towel she unzipped the black garment bag and was surprised first by the color of the dress. It was yellow a color that she didn't wear too often unless you counted a wedding she had gone to. This dress was simpler while somehow still having some properness to it. Sherlock didn't really do things halfway did he?

The dress had a white peter pan collar that flowed down into a clean yellow and white polka dotted dress. It fit her, she wasn't surprised about that. However, it did make her wonder when he had gotten the dress. From his own wardrobe he must have contacts that could do him favors like this. No doubt he had collected a number of favors.

Molly brushed through her hair as best she could before heading back out to see him. He was scribbling something down in his notebook with the phone tucked in between his ear and neck. He spotted her and motioned for her to go back to the bedroom for 'shoes' which he had mouthed for her, while continuing to listen to what information whomever was feeding him on the other end.

She found the shoes at the end of the bed already out of the box so that she could just slip them on and go. They were a simple pair of black heels. She headed back out to see him only to be met halfway.

"Yellow?" She asked him, with a small smile.

"It's one of your better suited colors." He cleared his throat. "I was right…obviously."

Molly hummed. There was nothing much else they needed to say about that or at least as far as Sherlock was concerned. He instinctively reached for her hand but at the last minute clasped his hand at her wrist so they could be on their way. He managed to pick up his coat and pass Molly's hers before calling to Mrs. Hudson that they were heading out and wouldn't be back until later.

Once they stepped outside Sherlock hailed for a taxi. One was there in a few short moments and Molly didn't think she'd ever be used to that (not that she was used to it). He gestured her to slide in before he joined her and rattled off an address. It wasn't in London.

"Okay, now tell me." She turned her head towards him and waited. Sherlock looked past her outside the window as they began traveling.

"I often look for similar cases when it comes to targeted hits." He begun only to notice Molly looking at him weirdly. "You know that though, you do something similar. Regardless I found a case that fits nearly exactly and I made contact with the woman and she agreed to talk to us."

"How can you be sure that it's the same?"

"I went to have a look."

He waited for Molly to react to that tidbit of information. She swallowed, "You went to the morgue."

"The files were there. I didn't touch anything or anyone. I just compared the file with the assistant pathologist standing very close. He also hasn't started the autopsy I asked him to wait."

Molly's eyes were glassed over a bit. "Thought you'd want a hand in that. I wouldn't recommend it but I can't stop you from trying if you feel it's important." He paused briefly and reached over and squeezed her hand gently before withdrawing.

"I might." Was what he got in reply to that. She hadn't thought about the autopsies yet. "Thank you."

Sherlock filled her in on what he knew about the previous case. The woman had lost her sister to a similar hit, and nearly lost her shoulder – and arm - when a final attempt was made on her life. The people responsible were never apprehended. Sherlock inferred that perhaps they had run off or had a new project that they needed to get on to. The fact that they were doing it again said a lot about their priorities. He would go so far as to admit that the man who had hired the people behind this – it was definitely a hired hit – was on a mission and it could be a different matter entirely. Nothing was exactly certain however.

Molly simmered on this information while they drove on to the house that turned out to be in a particularly vacant part of the outskirts of the city. There were maybe three cars on the street when they taxi driver halted. He asked if they wanted him to wait but Sherlock told him that he could come back in about two hours.

The house itself was medium sized. The outside had a few plants hanging about, a bicycle was laying in the yard. No car.

Molly gave Sherlock a short nod before they headed up the pathway towards the door. Molly was the one to knock on the door. Molly stood a few feet to the side as they waited for the door to be opened. When it did both Sherlock and Molly were surprised by the exclamation that they were greeted with.

"Molly Hooper, is that you?"

* * *

 **Well. I don't really have much to say about this except it's taken me a bit to work through it. I had some time where I wasn't sure where I was going to go with parts of it. I'll admit that last part just kind of happened on it's own. I didn't plan that. Which is good I suppose. I like writing to happen in the moment. So I hope you guys liked this.**

 **If you'd like to have a look at the yellow dress Molly's wearing in this one I put a link on my profile so have a look, if you like!**

 **I did actually model Molly's haircut after Loo's haircut that she's recently gotten (if you check her Twitter she posted a photo). I think it would look really lovely on Molly.**

 **Before I go I just want to thank everyone who took a chance on this fic, and have been really overwhelmingly amazing with the follows/subscriptions/kudos and comments about it. I'll admit I'm still really nervous about this. But, that's a good thing when it's something you really care about. I really care about these two. Please let me know what you thought about this one and hopefully I'll be able to get a third chapter as soon as I can. Thanks for everything, you guys.**

 **much love,**

 **day**


	3. Chapter 3

THE ILLUSTRIOUS CLIENT

3/6

Molly had the urge to look at Sherlock as if he could possibly know how another one of her old classmates was standing in front of her. She was a foot taller than Molly with dusty blonde hair, her skin looked paler than she remembered and there was the matter of the limb that she was missing. Half of her left arm was gone, only up to her elbow should be remained. It didn't change that she appeared to be the same Lanna Washington – American born, British educated – an old acquaintance of hers. They hadn't been exactly friends but they didn't hate each other either.

She looked happy to see Molly however. A hesitant smile on her face. She looked almost skittish. "Come in." She gestured with her only hand and moved back so that the detective and her old school mate, Molly could slip on through.

The first thing Molly noticed was that it was a bit crowded in there. A small kitchen was off a few paces from the front door, through there was a small table for eating. The largest area was where Lanna brought Molly and Sherlock to sit. He remained standing, moving over to the window automatically. Molly tried not to focus on it. He was always attracted to windows for some reason another. She imagined it was the curious mind in him that wanted to see what was going on outside. He had told her that you could find out a lot about a person by what was around them. She didn't think that was what he was doing exactly. He was biding her time.

"I had heard you had moved to London, Molly. Didn't know you knew a famous detective." She let out a short laugh.

Molly gave her a small smile as she swiveled her focus onto the blonde haired woman. She was two years older than Molly herself. She looked younger somehow. Normally it didn't work that way. She could tell that there was something in her eyes that spoke of a story that Molly hadn't been told about. When they were teenagers Lanna always had stories to tell. Her life had been so lively and vibrant. She was the talk of the school. So many people clung to her. Molly sat somewhere in the middle of it. Lanna had been closer to Tilly.

"You heard about Tilly." Molly said instead of talking about Sherlock. She saw him out of the corner of her eye. He spun around to watch. He wanted to observe the exchange. She already had known that Lanna was a victim. The victim who would somehow help them move forward into the killing of one of her old friends, and her daughter. She wanted to hear it for herself. Wanted to know how it happened. To make the connection for herself.

Lanna smile lessened just a small amount as she nodded. "Read about it in the paper just before your friend called me. Don't know how he knew about me. About this…" She trailed off, her shoulder lifting to gesture at the lack of an arm as she looked at Sherlock curiously. "But, I knew that I was going to have to come out of hiding soon."

"So you were hiding." Sherlock commented. He circled around the couch and sat next to Molly. He wanted a closer seat to what was about to happen. He wanted to see their expressions when things finally came out in the open. He had already figured out some of it.

Molly and Lanna weren't friends but they knew each other. Molly's reaction when Lanna met them at the door said everything. She was surprised but she wasn't angry. She was perhaps even more curious than he was.

"Wouldn't you hide if you looked like this?" She quipped. Her damaged arm swung as she lifted her shoulder. She didn't look as young when she wasn't smiling. Her eyes downcast for the briefest of moments before she turned back to Molly. She looked tired and a bit bitter about it.

Sherlock decided to answer her question. "I don't care what people think of me."

"Must be nice, Mister Holmes. After the attack which I will tell you about in a little while - I needed to get away. I don't do well with pity. Sounds strange coming from me doesn't it, Molly?"

Molly didn't like this version of Lanna. She had been so full of it, sure, but there was something else lingering behind her bravado. Something that yearned for the attention – the affection – it wasn't there anymore. What remained was the shell of that girl. She appeared lackluster and down on herself. Her appearance had meant so much to her.

"No. You're very much the same." Molly smiled trying not to laugh. When Lanna looked at her as if she grown a head Molly continued. "You still care what people think. You used to be put on a pedestal because you were beautiful and fun. You still are quite beautiful despite how you think you look. We all have scars. Some more obvious than others."

Sherlock was staring at her blatantly. Molly ignored it. She was speaking in that way that always got him hooked. Her words were her weapons. She used them to shield herself and to help others. Sherlock was nearly the same but he didn't have her gentleness. It was one of the things that he marveled at about her.

Lanna looked at the way Sherlock was staring at Molly Hooper. She giggled at the openness. He didn't appear afraid to show off. From what the blonde had read and heard about him in the off chance she left the house to get groceries; people saw him as a machine, and impossible man who knew all the answers. That wasn't what she saw. She saw a strange yet handsome man who only had eyes for the auburn haired girl she used to tease back in the day.

This forced Molly to look at him. She had to keep herself from looking at him like she loved him. She did. She still loved him despite everything that had happened in the past six months. Having him throwing away his qualms about sentiment and showing a display of affection in the face of something more sinister than Moriarty himself. She had to swallow thickly.

In the same motion that Sherlock's intense gaze came it was removed. "How was Molly when she was younger? I've tried to imagine it. Actually I tried to get the photographs that my brother has found but he moved them again. Every time I get close he moved them. It's frustrating. She's important to me so I'd like to know."

Molly's own wistfulness was dampened by his words. Mycroft always had something to pull his brother back in. She'd get those photos for herself after this was all over. He could thank his little brother for her sudden appearance then, too.

Lanna had to applaud the man's tact. He wasn't afraid of much, she surmised. When he had called her because he wanted the information he had been rather cut and dry about it. The business man in him getting in the way of the man that sat before her. He was clearly conflicted about Molly but what he had just told her spoke more volumes about any of this than what he was trying to hide.

"She was weird. Very weird. She always said such funny things. A bit morbid at times. It's what Tilly liked about her. She said things that none of us ever thought of. It was so Molly that you couldn't help but love her. In a way I was spiteful of that. I was mean to her because it seemed like she had it all figured out. It's stupid now considering she moved to the heart of it all only to work in a morgue with people like you."

"I still don't have it figure out." Molly sighed. "I didn't have the best time back then. You're right. You were mean but I don't hold it against you. I was very weird. Still am. Sherlock used to be mean about it too."

"That's because he likes you." Lanna laughed. She only laughed more when the both of them avoided each other's gazes. "Don't tell me you haven't talked about it? You look completely comfortable sitting next to each other. It would be idiotic of me not to see it."

When she got nothing Lanna sighed. "Okay. Not talking about it then." She rose to her feet, motioning for them to do the same. "Get up. I have something I need to show you."

Sherlock looked at her for a moment before rising to his feet. He waited for Molly to do the same before they followed the blonde through the small entrance to a corridor that had three doors lining it. Unlike the beginning of the house the hall had plenty of room. Nothing blocked the path. Only one door was open. They walked into it and found something rather interesting.

The room was covered in pages. Only the ceiling was left alone to let the light filter through the room.

"It's like one of your deduction walls." Molly quipped as she stepped into the middle of the bare floor. The room had entirely been taken over by newspaper clippings and photographs all about one thing. Similar cases much like her own. There had to be at least twenty different incidents. Molly couldn't count them all.

She looked at Lanna in awe. "You've been following them."

"I never got justice. It's a bit mad of me really. There's not much I can do. I've tried to get the police involved."

"They're not the brightest." Sherlock commented as he stepped towards the wall where there was supposed to be a window. It was covered. If it wasn't for the light on the ceiling it would be hard to discern what was what here. He had found the beginning of the articles. "They would more than likely think you've lost it if you showed them this."

"Oh no, I'm not that stupid. I only showed them my file for my case."

"You have a file?" Both detective and pathologist asked at the same time.

Lanna rolled her eyes at them. How did people interact with the both of them in the same room? "Yeah, it's my office. I'll show you in a minute. I wanna tell you how I lost part of my arm."

She sat on the floor next to Molly's feet. Molly joined her leaving Sherlock to continue looking around. "I've gathered most of it. Go on and tell Molly. I believe it'll help her. She's struggling right now."

Molly would normally have thrown something at him for saying something like that. Not everyone needed to know that she wasn't okay. This was just how he was. He wasn't completely there either. She knew he was half here and half in his head so she shook her head and turned to Lanna.

"I found them. Millie and Tilly. We were out to dinner and I left something inside, when I came out they were gone." Molly drew in a shaky breath.

Lanna understood. Molly had also been the one to find her father before he went into the hospital for the final time. She knew how much this hurt Molly. Especially given her history with their mutual friend.

She reached out and grasped Molly's hand. "I'm sorry. I hope I can help."

There was a short beat of silence. Both women could hear Sherlock muttering but focused on the moment of what was about to unfold. "I wasn't supposed to get away. It took me a little while to remember most of it because of the trauma. I saw a shrink for a little while but it honestly hadn't helped."

She paused when she heard Sherlock shout, "It's not for everyone."

She shook her head before continuing on. "I only saw the first one because he attacked me head on. A bullet in my arm and another on my calf when I turned to run away." She stretched out her legs to show Molly the small line that had once been a bullet wound. It had healed well. "I didn't get that far. The second one was near the next block. He hacked at my arm. The blade was larger than anything I've ever seen. I don't think it was a cleaver. Anyways the blade only went about halfway into my arm. Can you imagine how terrifying that was to see half of your arm just hanging there? It was bloody. He was resilient though. I grabbed the hilt of it and finished it for her – screaming – because what was I supposed to do. It was the dead of the night and my fiancé Trevor was waiting for me back at home but I had a late night out with one of my work friends then this happened. The knives were the worst part. He liked to go for the back. I think he was aiming to sever my head or my spine. Either way he didn't get to do it. The other one – the shooter – he made him leave. I remember what he said as I blacked out from the pain and the blood loss. _She's never going to make it. It's done._ "

"You survived."

"By something short of a miracle. I woke up in the hospital on my stomach. I freaked out when I saw my arm. They had to sedate me. I didn't want to be around people after that. My dad was a mess. I couldn't subject him to that. Nor Trevor. He had tried so hard to save face but we both knew that he would be gone. So I left, found this place. Been hiding ever since."

Molly squeezed her hand. This had been much worse than she ever imagined. "Sorry."

Lanna gave her a half smile. "So what's the plan now? Or are you just going along with it?"

"We have a theory." Molly told her hesitantly.

"Molly has a theory." Sherlock mumbled instead. He had moved behind them and was still reading; cataloguing.

"He doesn't like the idea of it. But, you helped reaffirm the possibility that I might be right."

"What is it?" Lanna looked back from Molly to Sherlock. She knew that this was going to be terrible no matter who told her. Molly seemed to want to tell her over Sherlock.

It occurred to her that it could be because it was a part of the reason why the two of them were uncomfortable with each other to some extent. Only partially though. There were other things going on before Molly found Tilly dead.

"It's our classmates who are dying. People I know. People I may have loved in some capacity when we were teenagers."

Lanna didn't seemed all that surprised by the thought of it. "I've entertained that idea as well. There is another one of us who died. When we were in school. Don't you remember?"

Molly mulled over it for a second before the dread set in. "You don't mean Eddie, do you?"

Lanna released Molly's hand so she could get to her feet. She moved to the opposite side of the room where it was much dimmer. Lanna knew this room like the back of her hand. She unpinned an article before coming back over to Molly. Sherlock had turned around as well.

"Yeah. They wouldn't tell us how he died but I found out. Even before it happened to me. I was curious. My dad used to tell me it was going to get me killed. It could have been why I was targeted but Tilly didn't know. I never shared that information with her or anyone. I was reminded of you and how you always were looking for the truth. I had even brought this to school one day to show you but then I chickened out. I knew people would make jabs at me about it."

Molly was learning so much more about Lanna than she ever knew. She took the paper clipping from her and looked over it. Edmund Wilkes had only been sixteen when he had died. They had held a vigil at the academy but no news had surfaced. Parents had been very strict after that event. Molly remembered that more than anything.

The M.O. matched. It was exactly the same minus the hacking of a limb. Molly couldn't think back to last night. She couldn't do it without shaking so she saved it for later.

"When did your attack happen?" Molly inquired as she passed the article back over.

"Five years ago, it'll be six years on Saturday."

Sherlock drew in a deep breath. "No. It's too simple." He stated.

"What are you thinking?" Molly turned towards him.

"Well it's obvious. Killers always have triggers that start them on their way to destruction; to kill. If their mistake's anniversary was coming up it would mean they aren't quite finish yet. They could even kill again before it happens. We can't be sure."

"What if there was a way to lure them though?" Lanna asked.

"How?" Molly asked, ignoring the look of euphoria on Sherlock's face. He knew what the blonde was thinking but Molly wouldn't go for it.

"I said I was coming out of hiding. Why not, now?"

Molly definitely didn't like it. "You can't turn into bait. We don't know if that's what's going on."

"It's possible." Sherlock returned.

"What if we switched places?" Molly whispered.

"Are you sure you would want to do that? How would that even be possible?

"Absolutely not." Sherlock growled.

Molly focused on Lanna. "We could figure it out after I go to the morgue. We'll have to plan it."

"Why does no one ever listen to me?" Sherlock grumbled before he slid next to Molly and reached for her shoulder, turning her towards him.

"Molly. You're being an idiot right now."

"You would do the same if it was John." Molly argued.

"This isn't John. This is you. You're supposed to be safe."

"Sherlock when have I ever played it safe, and don't you dare bring Tom into this?"

Lanna couldn't stop watching the pair of them. They were talking. Actually talking. She might not have known Sherlock that long but she could tell when a man was desperate and he was. He really wanted to protect her.

Sherlock was quiet for the briefest of moments. Molly could see him rushing through every single thing she has ever done that he knew about. He wasn't going to find anything. She always did things but he had been able to make sure the blowback wasn't too severe. Or at the very least he'd be able to try. This was different. She was talking about putting her life on the line as a decoy.

The truth was that she could be the intended target, as much as that pains him to admit. If that was the case then he couldn't let this happen. Not in this lifetime.

"It doesn't matter. There will be another way."

"I'd love to hear it." Molly replied, sardonically at him.

"Me too." Lanna chimed in causing the pair to remember that they were not alone and had pretty much had a heated debate in front of someone.

Molly deflated, running a hand through her hair and letting out a sigh. "Sorry about all this. We're going to have to figure this out with everyone. We have a lot of friends – mostly his friends – who will want to know about this before anything else happens."

"I'm happy you found people who could support you in London. It's a big city." Lanna almost sounded wistful.

"Come with us." Molly told her quickly.

She saw the hesitance on the blonde's face.

"You'll have to come there soon anyways. You can stay with me…us…giving the look he's giving me I'm not going back to my flat until this is over."

Sherlock nodded his consent on the matter.

"Yeah. Okay." She gave them a soft smile. She was nervous but that was to be expected. London was an exciting place even with its darkness.

The sound of a car honking outside broke the conversation. "That's our ride. Pack quickly." Sherlock muttered as he headed down the stairs.

"Is it bad I already have a go bag? I just never know when I'll have to make a run for it." Lanna told Molly as they slipped into the corridor once again.

"I have one too. One in my office, the second one at my flat."

"Oh, we are so weird Molly." Lanna laughed as she stepped into one of the closed rooms to grab the bag. She slipped her file into before they headed towards the door, locking the door once they were both out.

Lanna looked around briefly before nodding and joining Molly inside the taxi.

"Where to now, sir?" The cabbie asked Sherlock with a grin.

"St. Bartholomew."

* * *

 **Sorry for the much longer delay. Was having a small case of 'I know what I want to write sort of but it won't come out'. But, I finally did it. So yay there. I think actually watching more of The Fall helped too. I have no idea why it helped but it did?**

 **I was actually going to put the morgue part in here but changed my mind because I didn't want it to get too long. Plus, it's going to be a very emotional chapter for Molly. Figured I'd let that happen in it's own thing.**

 **What do we think about Lanna? She's had a very interesting life thus far. Who do we agree with more Sherlock or Molly when it comes to handling this if Molly happens to be right about the whole they're trying to find Lanna again to finish the job or alternatively if it is Molly? I'd love to hear your thoughts!**

 **much love,**

 **day**


	4. Chapter 4

**THE ILLUSTRIOUS CLIENT**

4/6

 _You've got a big heart_

 _The way you see the world_

 _It got you this far_

…

 _And even if you're scared_

 _You're stronger than you know_

 **Something Wild; Andrew McMahon & Lindsey Stirling**

* * *

Molly was met by the slightly older pathologist she'd been working with for the past could months – Ray – as she slipped through the double doors that brought her to the morgue. She had nabbed a set of spare scrubs on her way down so she took the time to change while Sherlock conversed with her assistant although she was completely aware it was the last thing he wanted to do.

Upon her movement to begin her work she was faced with Sherlock waiting for her right outside the door with a concerned look on his face. It hadn't really hit her that what she was about to do was going to be really hard until she felt the pressure of his hand on her shoulder and the careful way he tried to be there for her once again. She wondered when the dust settled would things revert back to the way things were; when they weren't talking and the use of a middle man was necessary in order for Sherlock to do what he did best.

She didn't know what she wanted anymore. This entire situation had turned her head upside down and she hadn't the foggiest idea how to resume her life let alone her job when everything was completely destroyed. She had always soldiered on though, even when things got bad. It was one of the things Tilly had enjoyed about having her around. Even after her dad had passed; especially then she was faced with drowning in the grief and having to deal with how her mother dealt with it too. It had persuaded her into finding a better avenue for the future. In resulted in her moving to London for university and ultimately deciding to stay. It also brought her the chance of meeting and working with one of the best minds in the world.

Sherlock knew that something was on Molly's mind. She looked less melancholy and more contemplative about something. He squeezed her shoulder slightly eliciting her to look up at him from her glance at the linoleum floor outside of the double doors where she was gathering her wits about what lay before her now. "What's on your mind?"

Molly let out a sigh. The one time she had brought up her father she had been awkward and less than helpful to him although in some ways that very moment had seemed to give him permission to seek out her help. Now however things were different. He wasn't facing some villain that had been in both their paths. They were battling something more human and complicated. "I dunno…" She began quietly.

"Is it about Millie?" He uttered quietly trying to test the name on his tongue. It felt odd. It had been a little while since Molly had to autopsy a little girl; a child.

Molly bit her lip as she shook her head. "Not completely. I was thinking about my dad actually. I didn't think I'd ever have to go through what I went through when he died b-but…" She broke a bit. Sherlock instinctively took purchase of the hand that was already touching her shoulder and brought her head to his chest. Words weren't going to help her now. So he let her cry. "It's worse." She breathed. "He didn't get brutally murdered."

"Cancer, right?" He responded as he stroked down the short tresses of her hair.

"I never told you that." She whispered as she took in a few slow breaths. She couldn't keep breaking down like this even if that's all she wanted to do. She was usually so put together. It had to be a pathetic picture to see her so unkempt. Sherlock holding her to him was so bizarre to her however, it felt nice to be comforted in that way. She would never thought he'd be the one to initiate the embrace however. It was definitely not like how it was in the movies. Everything was backwards.

"I looked into it…you. Thought it might be important later." He spoke slowly knowing that he was giving himself away.

He felt her shake a little, the breathless laugh at that permeated from her made him feel light. "'Course you did. No deductions?"

"A few." He paused, taking a step back as to assess if she was going to be okay. She seemed to be doing better. "Okay?"

She nodded not trusting her voice right now. He hadn't needed to go as so far as to pull her into his warm embrace but he did. "Thanks. I know that sort of thing makes you uncomfortable."

"Sometimes." He confessed.

Her brow arched in question but let it be as the door opened behind them. Molly noticed the surprised look on Lanna's face upon discovering her and Sherlock pretty close to each other. His hands were still poised on her shoulders. He let them fall, tucking his hands in his pockets. "Mind if I join you at the slab?" He continued ignoring her friend.

"Why? Don't you usually just wait for the results?"

He started to reply only for Lanna to intercede. "He's worried about you, Molls. Besides I think I'll stay far away. I've had enough carvings on my skin to last a lifetime. Don't think I can stomach this."

Molly shot her a smile. "Luckily I can…usually."

"Are we gonna get started?" Ray soon followed the trail of people who were not inside the morgue. One look at Sherlock's face made him duck his head back in.

"Stop that." She told him before pushing the door open to go inside. She joined ray at the slab that had Tilly splayed out. He had already washed her hair and most of her body. The set of tools were already there for her to begin. She looked at Sherlock who had discarded of his suit's jacket for one of the mocks that covered his entire body and was adding a mask on top of it as he walked over to her.

Ray was standing next to her ready to hand her the scalpel and begin the recorder that signified the beginning of the process. Once she was sure that she was going to be fine – or that she wouldn't look at Millie's face while she cut into her skin – she nodded to Ray and he pressed the red button to begin the first autopsy. She wiped all thoughts of who was actually on her table as she spoke.

"Doctor Margaret Hooper beginning this autopsy of a female in her mid-thirties. Matilda Morrison…" By the time she was finished Sherlock was able to conclude the inquiry about the hits being alike. It had worried him even more so now. Before they moved over to begin the young girl's examination he quickly received Lanna's file from her. He turned to Molly to show her but he saw her looking a bit worn out already. She was staring at her friend's expressionless face.

He closed the file before moving around the slab to her. He wasn't sure what to say.

It appeared he wouldn't have to say much. She turned to look at him. "What's the verdict?"

With an air of professionalism he passed her the file. He waited for her to look over them before saying anything. "It all fits. Although no other incident involved a child and that's quite bothersome."

"Yes." Molly agreed sadly as she passed the file back to him. She turned to Ray who had been remotely silent the entire time. She knew it was in part because Sherlock was there but Ray had also been concerned about her coming in to do this and she appreciated that now more than ever.

"If you're comfortable with it Doctor O'Malley would you mind taking care of Camilla."

He asked no questions of her although she could feel plenty rolling off of Sherlock and Lanna who had actually come over from the other side of the morgue where she had stayed during the few hours it took for her to dissect their dead friend. "I will make sure that she's treated with care and call you with my findings. Get some rest Doctor Hooper."

He made no move to offer comfort physically, his words had been enough. With that taken care of Molly went to shower and change back into her normal clothes.

During this time Lanna spoke with Sherlock.

"Has she ever turned down an autopsy before?"

Sherlock grinned at a memory. "Yes. She was sure she would want to mutilate his body so she passed it off to someone else."

"Why is that funny?"

"She hated him. He tried to discredit her. He used her…" He sighed. "To get to me. Children are usually the ones she wants to take care of the most. However, she's never had one on the table that she genuinely cared for."

"It hurts her."

"Remarkably so."

"She took care of me once when we were younger. Not because she had to but she's always had very soft spirit and the need to be there for people when they thought the world wanted to punish them."

Sherlock smiled ruefully. "She hasn't changed that much then."

"But, she has. There's defiance in her eyes when she looks at you trying to do what you want with little expense to those around you – her in this case – she won't just let you win a case for the sake of one life."

"It's her life I want to protect." He growled hotly.

Lanna laughed. "I'm very aware of your feelings towards Molly. What's stopping you from being with her?"

Sherlock tilted his head to the side. She wasn't the first person to ask him that. John had tried after Moriarty was permanently out of the picture, Mary was always trying. He still hadn't quite let himself say it out loud. "It's a bad time. In truth that's always the case and considering that the two of us are still at a wall due to something previously that I won't share with someone I just meet no matter who you are I'll just stick to that."

Lanna had brought one of her hands to rest against her lips as she watched the messy haired detective try to sort through his brain while answering her question. He had chosen to give her a half truth and while that was fine she had long since lost her opportunity to be loved which was partially her fault but she wasn't going to let it happen to someone she did care about.

"Then I'll make an opportunity for it. Not matter what has happened she should be happy in some regard. I know the pain of having to shelf happiness and it feels like being suffocated."

Sherlock didn't know how to reply to that, nor did he have to when Molly came back. She had obviously had another spare change of clothes in her locker. She was now in trainers, a pair of jeans, and a plain grey top. She had one of her overly large bags slung over her shoulder. "Where to now?"

"Somewhere quiet." Sherlock stated as he heard a ping on his phone. She watched him take it from his pocket before joining her at the door. Lanna followed to albeit slowly giving them some room to breathe. She needn't though as when they made it outside an unmarked black car was waiting and the black umbrella being twirled gave Molly pause as she was faced with the only other man whom she didn't really want to talk to. Not because he gave her any reason, she had had enough false smiles from him over the years to last a life time and she wasn't in the mood for another one.

To Mycroft's credit he did not say a word. He merely nodded before opening up the door to allow the trio to climb inside. Molly situated herself next to Anthea who merely passed her a glass of wine as if she anticipated her needed a long drink. She wasn't incorrect in assuming so. Molly downed it quickly before passing it back and closing her eyes.

The Holmes brothers exchange a short glance as the car started moving but other than that there was nothing else left to say. Not aloud anyways. I had spoken this morning before Molly rose from her slumber. They had already agreed on many options and had a spout about the others that would be discussed within a larger group.

"Miss Washington, was it?"

Molly's eyes opened upon the calculating voice of Sherlock's older brother choosing to speak. She shared at glance with Lanna who merely shrugged. "You look like the type of man who doesn't typically ask questions that they already know the answer to."

Sherlock had to bite down a chuckle at the amusement he saw flicker behind Molly's eyes at her friend's obvious no bullshit attitude.

"Very well then."

That shut him up. Anthea reached out towards Molly's hand and placed something it in it. She turned over the card that she was given and looked at it with little interest. There was a number on there but other than that nothing. She could feel everyone's eyes on her but she ignored them all except for Anthea. "What is it?"

"That's the number of a specific assassin who was spotted last night."

"Why do I need it? I don't really feel like being targeted today or ever again."

"Mrs. Watson may be able to help." Mycroft interrupted.

Molly lifted her head to look at Sherlock who was sitting directly in front of her. She wanted to know what he thought. "She'll be where we're going. Eliza too."

"Where are we going, Sherlock or are you going to surprise me once again in the same day?" There was an edge to her voice.

Mycroft let out a sigh before pulling out his phone. It was very exhausting dealing with his brother's emotions and the young woman who he had unconsciously chosen to fall in love with. She wasn't a bad person, much more suited to him that his last fancy but she could be temperamental and that could be a problem if they wanted to work through this problem as quickly as possible. When Sherlock had called him early this morning at 4am to ask for his help in a personal but professional matter Mycroft had been disgruntled and annoyed. He had thrown the word utmost important into the mix. He wouldn't have called it that but close. _Friends_ were an aspect of his little brother's life that did affect him in a large way.

The recent conflict between Miss Hooper and his brother had not missed his attention either but he had been told to stay out of it by several people – his parents included. It was almost fitting that they were going to them now to seek a different avenue of guidance.

"I felt that my mother might be able to help."

"What?" Molly asked slowly as she sat up straight and looked absolutely alert.

"My mother…"Sherlock started.

"Are we going to your family home?" She choked.

"Yes." He replied curtly although he desperately wanted to reach out and grab her hand to soothe this episode she was having over meeting his mother during a very bad time in her life.

"I look like shit." Molly replied as she brushed her hands over her face.

Sherlock laughed causing Lanna to hit him in the arm as best she could in her position.

"Sorry. It's just she won't care."

"It's your mother."

"Yes," Mycroft interrupted as if annoyed with this whole conversation. "She has a habit of letting anyone we bring inside. That's when the questions start."

"There will be none." Sherlock mumbled.

"What was that?" Anthea regarded him with a smile.

"Nothing." Sherlock grumbled avoiding Molly's eyes knowing that she had clearly heard what he said.

Lanna thought this was definitely going to be more entertaining than she thought. Molly had always been awkward around parents. She never knew quite what to say. Not even when she was around her own. It would make a big difference that it happened to be the parents of the guy she herself had fallen for, even if they weren't on the same page right now. It wouldn't be too much long until they found their footing once more.

They were two level headed people and she didn't see the sense in letting the past get in the way of the future.

As the car came to a halt Lanna looked directly at Molly and offered a half smile in reassurance that everything would be alright in time. Molly tried her best to hold the smile that stayed for merely a millisecond before it disappeared as Mycroft opened his door and everyone began to file out.

Molly's initial thought of the lovely house she was in front of was that it was very quaint and country like down to the fence that poised as the go between from the outside world. The house itself was rather large on the outside – a few windows were visible at the upper levels, the paint was a dark red that was closer to a maroon color than anything else, a few shrubs next to the short set of steps that led to the door. It took her a solid minute to move towards the gate where Sherlock was waiting for her. He didn't look too enthused to be here but he wasn't rushing her either. It seemed he was biding his time as well.

The sound of an excited woman speaking in greeting as the door opened jolted Molly into taking the few steps towards Sherlock. He kept pace with her although his mother was trying to get him to look at her. It made Molly want to smile at the obvious discomfort between the son and his mother who looked so thrilled to have more company.

As they finally reached the elderly couple his mum – gray haired pulled back off her neck with a jeweled barrette, a shawl like top that draped over her chest, a understate necklace and trousers that looked quite breezy and comfortable to the eyes – beamed happily at Molly first not saying much of anything at first. Instead welcoming them all in. She felt Sherlock breath hit her neck as he spoke quietly to her before his mum could turn back to spot them. She was bringing them to the sitting area where his dad had somehow reached before either of the guests. "Forgive me for what you're about to endure."

It made Molly want to smile just a smidge. She held it together all of two seconds when his mum did notice that they had been having a small moment together. "Let's have a sit shall we dear. Do you prefer that I call you Margaret or Molly?"

Once again Sherlock turned into her as they plopped down on the settee next to one another and made a comment that cost him a scathingly affectionate glance as if she could tell exactly what he was mumbling about. He had tried so hard to be quiet but Mummy always knew what he was going to say often before it left his mouth.

Molly began to tell her that she didn't have a preference although everyone called her Molly, it was less formal, when someone entering from the other side of the house answered for her. "It's always Molly. My husband used to call her such adorable names when he was still living."

"Mother?" Molly questioned as she felt the instinct urge to rise up and quite possibly step outside. She didn't understand what was going on and less so why her mother had been brought here. She felt Sherlock rise with her.

"I didn't know…" He breathed before inclining his head towards his own mother and trying his best to read her without having to discuss this. She was smiling at him, it was no unkind but it seemed as though she felt that this would help the woman he had brought her after getting a yes in answer that it would be a safe space for them all until everything was taken care of.

Sherlock reached his mother first and spoke hurriedly. "She hates her mother. She doesn't talk about her. Ever."

"She was more than happy to see her daughter through this chapter of her life. I'm not one to turn such a matter away. You may loathe coming here now that you're away and can do whatever you like with no cost to your family but that doesn't change who you are and where you came from Sherlock."

Molly watched the exchange for a moment longer before she realized she needed to address the elephant in the room. She moved sluggishly over to the woman who had given her birth. She didn't say anything for a while just looked at how put together her mother was. It seemed as if nothing had changed at all. She had even held her head after her dad had passed on. It had always made Molly so angry.

"You look tired, Margaret." Her mom broke the silence.

"I'm always tired." She replied with a sigh.

"Sleep more or you'll get into an early grave." It wasn't said with any malice. She was just trying to give her some advice.

"Is that what you thought happened to…" She didn't even have to finish her inquiry, her mom's loose short brown hair shook as she rescinded the thought. "No, he was ill. You're not dying are you?"

"Not yet." Sherlock's voice filtered through the tense silence. Molly hadn't even noticed that it had been pretty quiet during this smile frame of time where she was actually speaking with her mother.

Both of them turned around to see Sherlock with his hands stowed in his pockets and looking rather determined. "That's the last thing we want to happen so I have some recruits coming over."

Molly gave him an intrigued look. "Is that why we're here?"

"Yes." Sherlock began.

His mom interceded though. "Not completely. I'm not sure if my son has mentioned it but I'm a mathematician. I made my life of it and so I have an anomaly I want to solve."

"What are you getting at?" Sherlock, both confused and intrigued by what his mother was building upon but willing to give her his attention now.

She didn't give him an answer just smiled.

"You think I-we can help you with it?" Molly asked clearly realizing that this was more than a way for her to help offer solace during this troubling time.

"If you'd be willing. I'm more science than math but I can lend a hand if I can. After all you're helping me now too."

"The sciences incorporate math however, so I think you'll be fine dear." Came Molly's mum reply from behind her.

Molly chanced a look at Sherlock and they both knew it, they were working together for some common goal however neither mother was electing to share at the current moment.

Molly sighed before returning back to take a seat. This was more exhausting than having to talk to Sherlock. Something that she was doing now more than ever. He had traveled over to one of the windows his habit of choice leaving the grown women to speak.

The brunette with the green eyes sat next to her daughter and took the opportunity to offer condolences for the young girl who had only adore Molly more than herself sometimes when they were kids. "I'm sorry about Matilda. I remember liking her when she was would come over. Dad did too. I believe he spent the most time with you two."

Molly hummed, closing her eyes for a brief moment to get her grips before she continued this conversation. "Why did you come?"

"It was an opportunity to try to see you. I haven't been good at looking after you or talking to you at all since you moved to London for university and then you got the job at Barts. I kept up with the medical journals and all the articles people wrote about you. There were more than I ever though. You've always been such a shy pearl in the sea of done up career types that I was surprised." She paused trying to take a breath she wasn't used to talking this fast or explaining why she wasn't the best mother.

"You got involved with a detective somewhere along the way I see. I suppose I should be grateful that he's not a PI. Then I would truly worry."

"We're not…" She tried to explain. She felt like she was always having this discussion with people. Her relationship with Sherlock Holmes was fractured currently, and even before that they weren't together. She had stopped thinking that they ever would be. She had gone on a few more dates before work got the best of her and she stopped having much of a social life at all. She wasn't seeing him much either because somewhere in the middle of all that the incident happened. It was all very strange now to find herself in Sherlock and Mycroft's old family home with both his parents.

His father had been fairly quiet during this whole experience but Molly found his silent demeanor less threatening than anyone else she'd ever met. He observed with a keen eye that made her realize perhaps it was his father he echoed more than his mother even though she seemed to be the intelligent sort. His father was his essence down to his impeccable taste in clothes. She could almost see him taking a small Sherlock to get fitting for his first suit or coat.

As if realized that she was looking at him intently he turned his eye towards her and smiled at her. He seemed to be delighted to draw someone else's attention. He rose to his feet slowly and soon padded his way over to the young pathologist. "Would you care for a drink, Miss Hooper?"

"Doctor." He corrected his father on instinct. Molly all but ignored it as she took his outstretched arm and exited the room to head towards the rather large kitchen. She tried not to seem too relaxed but it was hard after being in a room with two people you really didn't want to be alone in a room with for any amount of time. Sherlock albeit was in a much better standing than her mother but not by much.

She was surprised to see Lanna sitting down at table in one of the chairs in the small nook of a corner that was inside the room. She gave Molly a smirk. "You made it through the lion's den."

"You avoided it with grace. How?"

"I've gotten really good at camouflaging…and running."

Mr. Holmes broke their conversation, "Tea or something stronger?"

Molly swiveled around in surprise that they could possibly have anything with a kick in here that wasn't spices. It just wasn't something you envision from the elderly couple. She had seen Sherlock get completely hammered out of his mind so perhaps it shouldn't have been too much of a shock to her. "How strong are we talking?" She laughed.

"Mycroft has a habit of gifting old bourbons to me. I've been too afraid to open one. A little taste couldn't hurt."

"I haven't had a strong drink in ages. Bourbon sounds good." Lanna chirped up. Molly assented to the idea.

"Sure, we can have a few tumblers of that."

"My kind of girls." He mumbled happily as he set to making the drinks.

It wasn't too long until Sherlock found his way to where Molly had found a new place of solace. He found it amusing to see his father at a table between two women who he was no way obligated to talk to. However he had managed to get several drinks in him. It was almost strange except for the easy going look on his face as he listened to the ladies rehash a memory from their past.

"Do you remember when Linda thought you'd be afraid of her trying to dump a bucket of dirt on you but then Tilly caught her in the act? I have never seen the girl look more terrified that she was in that moment."

Molly hiccupped clearly needing to cut herself off. She was swirling what was left of her tumbler in no rush to add another few quarts. Sherlock could tell she wasn't going to ask for anymore. "I do. I had never seen Tilly rush someone so fast. I was surprised they didn't send her home for that. She completely wrecked the girl's wardrobe. I felt a little bad."

"You're a dear." Sherlock's father chuckled. "Most people would feel vindictive."

"She's not that type of person even when she ought to be." Sherlock mumbled as he took the last remaining seat and stole Molly's glass. She made no comments about it but did look at him softly. It was more than likely a result of the amount of alcohol she had already downed. He didn't tear his gaze from hers however.

"I guess I don't see the point. It starts wars from what I hear…" She trailed off as she tucked her hair behind her ears and returned her attention to the eldest Holmes relative who was looking curiously between herself and his son. He had more or less caught onto the fact that his son held her in a certain regard although he made no move to say anything about it. He was an observer not an instigator.

"It certainly can. My older son-Mycroft certainly has done enough of that much to Vi's and my chagrin."

"I think that lady has him under control."

"Anthea?" Sherlock scoffed. He didn't not like her but he always found her hard to swallow for several reasons. One being that he never could figure out who she was. He had heard from John that she was somehow linked with Irene Adler, someone he had once been fond of in a cat and mouse type of way. It had been done for quite some time. He got the occasional obligatory message from her but he had all but ignored anything that spelled out her interest. He had much more on his plate these days than a woman who had done so much in the short time he had known her.

 _You hardly knew her_.

Whereas the woman sitting on his left was someone had found plenty of time to know even when he wasn't explicitly trying to. She was the heart in his mind keeping him grounded physically. Before she came back into his life via her case she was still there questioning him, making him think. She had always done that. Even before he 'died', she didn't know it but she was slowly coming to the forefront of his mind.

He could see himself spending days with her and not being unhappy. While she pushed him to be better he was content in who she was as a person. There was nothing he would change, save for her not being in danger constantly by association. It felt like this time this was her own battle that he was determined to be the one doing the saving even if it meant losing a part of himself.

"You only dislike her because you can't read her and she makes your brother tolerable. Anthea is great. We're friends."

Sherlock frowned but didn't continue his rant about why the PA whom also happened to be his brother's goldfish frustrated him.

The side door opened and in came two welcome visitors – John and Mary Watson. They flocked to the table with smiles. "Mycroft just filled us in. Oh Molly this is huge." Mary greeted. She looked panicked while also reserving some thrill in her eyes.

Their friend always found puzzles to be exciting. From what Molly had uncovered via the consulting detective Mary used to do this kind of thing regularly before she left that life behind – or at least tried to before she met John and as a result Sherlock.

"Yeah." Molly replied flatly though she gave her friend a short smile.

"What are we gonna do?" John directed the question at the room but everyone knew that it was pretty much directed at his messy haired best friend.

"I know what Molly's going to say but the easy choice would to be put me as bait considering I'm less important."

"No, you not." Molly flared.

The room was quiet as they all waited for the short haired brunette to say her peace. She had been holding in a lot lately. "I'm tired of people trying to use others to find a way around this mess. I'm also a target. Not matter what you say that's the truth of the matter. I don't care about statistics and all that hogwash. I care that people are dying around me and I can't do anything useful to stop it. So it's me or no one at all. That's it."

Molly exited the room after that. She was met by Mycroft, Anthea and his mother. "Is there…?" She began.

"First room up the stairs on the left." His mum replied softly. Molly nodded in thanks before rushing up there. She could feel the tears rolling down her face but she wasn't going to stop it.

She had meant everything she said. She couldn't do this anymore. It hadn't even been a day and she couldn't stomach what was happening. Who she had lost had been one of the best parts of her and if they wanted her to do that, to lose someone who yes she didn't have the same track record with she would rather the alternative. That's just who she was. Protecting people was what she was good at.

The scene in the kitchen turned chaotic. "She's not going to budge on this." John commented when she noticed Sherlock looking at the doorway. He wanted to be able to do something and it was clear that he was out of his depth here.

"She'll have to." Lanna muttered. "I'm willing to do this. I've run long enough and I'm just as tired as she is. I mean this has been my life. She can't just make a choice like this and think that that's it. It's not fair."

"Not it's not." Sherlock sighed as he rose to his feet. He was going to do something that he should have done a long time ago. "Dad, make sure Lanna gets settled and make sure no one interrupts me upstairs."

"Sure, Sherlock." His dad reached out and patted Sherlock on the shoulder before he turned to leave them.

"What is he going to do?" Mary questioned.

John had to bite down a laugh. "Something stupid."

"Is he really?" Mary sounded excited as she caught on to what her husband was hinting at.

"Not stupid. My son is anything but that." Mr. Holmes commented as he began gathering glasses to start to clean up. His wife soon joined him and gave him a peck on the cheek. She didn't say anything else but for a moment she appeared to be worried.

"They'll be fine, Mummy." Mycroft said even though he knew that she knew that.

* * *

Molly had realized quite quickly that the room she was in belonged to Sherlock. It made it harder for her to focus not on him. She didn't want to even think about him. She just kept playing back the way he looked at her when he realized she had made up her mind. He looked forlorn and empty. She had seen that look before but it had never been thrown at her before. It shook her but it didn't sway her very much. This was just the way it was going to be.

When he stepped into the room however she couldn't help but shout the first thing that came to mind. "You can't change my mind."

"I can try." Sherlock said quietly as he shut the door and locked it. That gave her a small pause. Why would he do that in his own parent's house? What was he up to?

Molly didn't know how to respond to that so she turned away from him and traveled over to the large bookshelf that held dusty old volumes on sciences that Molly hadn't ever thought of studying. There were so many of them that a couple sat on the floor as well.

"I was wrong." He started staying by the door knowing that she needed the room to move about without him restricting her.

"About what?" She sighed, moving on to the desk that was wedged near the bookshelf.

"I shouldn't have pushed you during the Clemens Twins case earlier this year. I went too far for the answer. Mummy always told me that I was going to break someone because of my methods. She worries, and I think she might have been right. That you were right when you told me _I've saved you one too many times. This is it. I'm done._ I knew that you meant it because I'm an idiot. I admit it. I fucked up. Everyone thinks that that's what I'm always trying to do. Pushing people who matter to me. Lose control because I need the fix of a good mystery. It's not what I want to do. I don't mean to, I didn't mean to hurt you. I still don't want to hurt you but this scares me. Losing you scares me because I thought I already had."

Molly felt like she couldn't breathe. He was being honest with her, truly honest with no façade in place. He had done it before of course but never to this level. It was making it harder for her to not turn around and just say 'okay'. She couldn't do that. Not yet.

"You had…for a little while. I don't know why I came to you, instinct, need I guess. Something about you is still ingrained in my brain that I'm safe even though I know that I'm not. Especially now which is why I can't bring myself to go along with you anymore."

She paused.

"It hurts so much, Sherlock. I feel myself slipping back into your world so comfortably and I shouldn't want to. After everything we've been through…it shouldn't be easy. But, I need to know why you care so much? What is about me that has you doing the exact thing that made me leave you in the first place?"

"Because I love you!" He shouted. He was frustrated and sad, and so many things at once because it took something to pull them apart and bring them together again for him to tell her.

"I love you, Molly Hooper." He repeated again in a much calmer and yet broken way. "That's why I'm trying to keep you here. Keep you with me. I can't handle this pain in my chest any longer. I need you…" He whispered hoarsely.

* * *

 **I did scream a lot when I wrote that last part. Yup. I didn't know that was happening but it did. I'd be lying if it wasn't loosely due to the fact that that new s4 trailer wrecked me in the best way and it just seemed to kind of fit, right? You tell me.**

 **I hope y'all liked the longer chapter. Let me know.**

 **much love,**

 **day**


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